Here comes the rain (Buddie) - English

Chapter 4: Night Out

Christopher, in his yellow and red striped T-shirt, walks along the bowling alley, stumbling over his shoes that are far too big for him, and grasps onto the dinosaur-shaped railing, preventing him from collapsing and embarrassing himself in front of the group of giggling teenagers two rows away. Rushing to his aid, his father, arriving behind him, positions the ball in his hands while holding his shoulders to keep him upright. The boy stares at the lane, suppressing the humiliation that makes his bile bitter, and pushes the 7-kilo ball along the ramp. It slowly rolls down, bouncing off the polished floor with a boom echoing throughout the half-empty game room. The ball rolls, hitting the left gutter and deflecting to strike the right one, swaying between blue, white, and gray, losing speed and wobbling more. When it strikes the motionless pins, a rumble echoes in the half-empty hall, followed by a deafening ding, casino music, and flashing LED lights along the lane.

"Awesome!" his father exclaims, patting his back. "That's my son."

Laughing, Christopher returns to Buck, who stares at the score screen with dismay and astonishment.

"How is this possible?" he asks, seeing the gap widen between him and the child. "It's his first time playing, and he's beating my 32 years of experience!"

"My son is a genius," Eddie declares proudly, reclaiming his seat.

Christopher giggles, flopping down beside his father and leaning against him.

"It's your turn, Buck! You can do it!" he encourages.

Buck gives a resigned smile, stands up, and looks down at the colorful balls queued up on the return ramp. He grabs his, the purple one, and lifts it with one hand. Five lanes over, on the right, a man throws his ball with force, scattering pins in all directions.

Ding, music, light.

"Strike!" he hears two girls shout, looking so alike he thinks he's hallucinating. But they look even more like their father, who returns to them with a clenched fist, bent elbow, and a victorious smile.

"Come on, Buck! Aim for the middle!" Christopher calls over his father's amused chuckle.

Buck focuses on the lane stretching out before him, like a straight road through a deserted, arid canyon. A damn polished desert with LEDs flashing everywhere.

He holds the ball up, steps to the starting line, toes two millimeters from the edge, and fixes his gaze on the pin in the middle, just resettled by the mechanical arms. He arcs his arm back, twists his wrist, and releases the ball. It lands like thunder on the shiny floor, slicing through the air at top speed. It crashes through the pins like a cannonball. Five fall violently, ricocheting off the safety bars, shaking the entire mechanical structure. Three remain motionless, and the last two wobble dangerously before standing still.

How is this possible?

"Oh, come on!" he exclaims, slapping his thighs in frustration.

"You missed them!" the boy laughs. "You're really bad at bowling, Buck."

"Don't speak too soon, Christopher. I still have one shot!" he replies with disillusionment, walking briskly to the ramp.

"And you're going to miss it!" Eddie chimes in, joining his son.

"Thank you for your confidence, my friends," he says, emphasizing "friends" and mimicking quotation marks with his fingers.

He leans on the ramp, the mere contact of his skin against the metal sending shivers down his spine. He regrets opting for the short-sleeved shirt over his long-sleeved sweater. He had thought with his jacket, it would be fine. It was still warm, the air was cool but there was no breeze, so he would just have to hold his arms tight before entering the bowling alley, and once inside, the heating would be so strong that he would immediately feel warm. But now that his jacket lay on the back of his chair, he just wanted to put it on.